Rum, Whores, and little Boys
by s.j. snodgrass
Summary: Seven years after At World's End, Jack returns to Tortuga for Rum, a good time, and most importantly, a ship. However, what he gets is a fight and a little boy intent on following him. A little boy named Will Turner.


A/N: This is just a short little story I thought would be cute after seeing the third movie. Oneshot, please review if you can.

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney

The sun was setting, and the harbor of Tortuga was alive with drunken revelry of all sorts, from casual merchants sharing a drink after making a good profit (off the books, of course), to whores laughing at the men arguing over them, the men too drunk to realize that neither of the whores were worth the effort.

It was at this time that Captain Jack Sparrow tied up his "ship" at the dock and stepped onto land for the first time in several days. He was tired, irritable, and much too sober for his own good. What he needed was a stiff drink, a nice bottle of rum, and Gibbs. Yes, he needed Gibbs. Problems had come up that required a ship, something he was all too aware of currently lacking.

He double checked the knot holding the pathetic looking dingy to the dock. A drunk staggered toward it and pitched the contents of his stomach into the small boat.

"Oi! Oi! Get away from my ship!" Jack bellowed, waving his hands in the air as he ran back to toward the dingy. The drunken man gave him a bleary-eyed stare, vomit dripping from his beard. Jack recoiled at the side, his lip twitching. The man teetered dangerously, and perhaps out of curiosity more than anything, Jack poked a single finger into the man's chest. The man, arms flailing wildly, fell over into the water.

Jack looked at the water, noticing the man had failed to resurface. He shrugged and investigated his ship. It was a disgusting mass of wood and vomit. He straightened himself and looked toward the lights in the distance. Right, then, a ship it would have to be.

Sometime later he was content inside of a little tavern rum in his hand and a whore at his side. He had to admit, these last seven years had been hard, but for some reason not much about him had changed. He was still, in his opinion, handsome and fit, with just the slightest signs of gray wisps of hair amidst the otherwise brown mass atop his head. He had a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but other than that, he was the same Jack Sparrow.

The whore was saying something in his ear, but he wasn't paying attention anymore. His new concern was the way a man across the tavern was looking at him. The kind of look one is accustomed to being given when they do a lot of things to piss people off quite often. However, this time, as he cocked his head to study the man, he couldn't discover what in the world he had done. The whore's voice started to invade his cocked ear.

"Yes, that's the one. He thinks he owns me, that one, but we'll show him, won't we, Jack?" She murmered.

Ah.

That was it.

He was accustomed to using and being used by people, and it would of course be his luck that tonight was one such occasion.

"Pardon me, love." He got up quickly, the whore looking at him in surprise as he made his way to the door. Sure, he could handle that man, if he _really _needed to, but he was a firm believer that one never really needed to bother with the consequences of their actions until there is absolutely no alternative. At this very moment, a nice walk very far from the tavern would be a fine alternative.

"Hey, you!" The man had realized he was leaving. That was not good, in Jack's opinion. The man was swiftly approaching across the crowded tavern. Jack increased his pace. The man did the same. Jack pushed past a group of whores, the man drew pistol. Just a few more feet and the door……

There was a gunshot. The tavern erupted with noise.

After a few seconds, Jack, body stretched as close to the door as he could get, hand reaching for the handle, opened his eyes slowly. He looked about. The man was nowhere in sight. He investigated himself quickly, running his hands across his chest just to make sure he wasn't shot. Everything appeared to be in order. With one last look at the chaos now ensuing in the middle of the room, he walked out the door. Or, at least, he got out of the door, though through different means than those who held their liquor as well as he did.

Something had tripped him, that he was sure of, because that was the only explanation he could think of as to why he was suddenly sprawled on Tortuga's lovely dirt road. He tried to get up. It didn't work. He wrinkled his eyebrows together. Something was holding his legs. Slowly, suspiciously, he craned his neck around to see what it was. He was met with a small, grubby face covered with a mass of curly brown hair. His eyes were shut tight, eyebrows furrowed in determination.

Jack experimentally moved his legs. The boy held on. He kicked his legs in the air. The boy rose, and came back down with a thud, still holding tight. Frowning, Jack attempted to get up again, the boy's efforts only bringing him back down on his face again. Jack gritted his teeth. He furiously shook his legs back and forth, only to have the child grip them tighter. In a final moment of desperation, crawled across the road and gripped the boy by his collar, tugging at him. The boy finally let go, and Jack leapt to his feet, dusting himself off and looking down at his leg-offender.

The boy was looking at him with a strange mixture of hurt and fascination. He couldn't, Jack realized, be more than seven years old. Jack's upper lip twitched, and he began to walk away. The faint sound of very small boots on dirt told him that he was not alone. He turned, the boy stared. Jack walked again, the boy followed. Jack stopped, the boy stopped. It continued like this for five minutes, which Jack considered was a good amount of time to indulge the boy, and now it was time to lose him.

He turned to face the boy again, and the boy stared. Jack took a step backward, held out his hands, and waved them at the boy. "Shoo" he said.

The boy shook his head, curls flying. Jack had to admit, the boy had hair.

"Please." Jack tried. The boy shook his head again. Jack tried another approach. "Is there any particular reason you see fit to follow me around?" He asked.

The boy nodded.

"Ah. And this particular reason being….?"

The boy looked pained, then embarrassed, then completely dejected. "M' lost." He mumbled, looking down.

"Beg pardon?" Jack asked, leaning down.

"I'm lost." The boy reiterated.

Jack straightened up again. "I fail to see how this involves me." He said.

"W-w-will you help me find Mother?" The boy asked.

Jack cocked his head to side, mouth open, nose wrinkled, and stared at the boy. Finally, he said, "No."

The boy frowned deeper and glared at him. "You have to. You're the only one that's even talked to me so far." He said.

"That, son, is because you found it necessary to tackle me on me way out of that tavern there. That gets a man's attention." Jack said.

"So does fainting." The boy added.

"Well, yes, but only when women do it. When men do it they get robbed." Jack replied.

"Mother fainted one day when we were comin' here, because we didn't have the money to get proper boarding on a ship. She was only faking it, but they gave us a ride out of pity when she told the cap'n she was expecting. I'm not sure what that means, but she told me later she was lying to them. I'm not supposed to lie. Do you lie sir?" The boy asked.

"Never. And your mother sounds very clever, however, I have business to attend to tonight, and it does not include helping a little whelp find their missing parent, savvy?" Jack answered. Then he turned and began to walk away. He only stopped when he heard crying. He looked back to see the little boy having sunk to his heels, sobbing into his arms. Something inside of him snapped, and, as much as would like to have walked away, his feet carried him back to the boy.

"Stop with those tears, boy, and get up." The words flowed from Jack's mouth by some unseen force he didn't quite understand.

The boy looked up, in utter awe, and took the hand Jack offered. Jack pulled him to his feet and sighed. "What's your mother look like then, son?"

"She's really pretty, and blonde, and she's wearing a brown dress." The boy replied, still clutching Jack's hand.

"Really." Jack tried to shake the boy's hand off his own, but to no avail. The boy held

tight.

"Yes."

"Where did you last see her?" Jack asked, now tugging the boy down the street with him.

"I don't know. She was talking to a man with funny sideburns. He was kind of fat." The boy replied.

"I see. An' I don't suppose you noticed anything particular in the area she was in? Any signs or taverns?" Jack gritted his teeth in frustration as the boy shook his head again.

"Jack Sparrow, fancy seeing you here again." Jack looked up at the sound of his name. A woman was approaching him. He knew her. At least, he'd known her for a night or two. What was her name? Giselle? Celeste? No, no…

"Ah….Darling!" He opted, hands outstretched in greeting. At least, as outstretched as they could be with a sixty pound weight attached to one hand.

She smiled pleasantly until she got close to him, then she shot out a hand and slapped him.

"You don't even remember my name, do you? You tell me that you love me after two glorious nights together, and then disappear. And now who's this?" She asked, looking down at the boy.

"Who? Him? He's noth-" She slapped him again and bustled off, not sparing him another glance.

Jack rubbed his cheek. "Bugger," he muttered, knowing he'd have a bruise.

"Who was that?" The boy asked with all the naivety and curiosity of a child.

"That…That was…a friend." Jack replied, not all that anxious to explain the inner workings of the business of whores to a seven year old boy.

"Oh. Was she your wife?"

"No."

"Do you have a wife?"

"No."

"Have you ever met Davy Jones?"

"No-What?" Jack had become so accustomed to saying no that the question had caught him off guard.

"Davy Jones. He was the Cap'n of the _Flying Dutchman_. You ever meet him?" The boy asked again.

"Why do you ask?" Jack looked sideways at the boy, eyes squinted.

"Well that lady, she called you Jack Sparrow, right? Mother talks about a Jack Sparrow. He was friends with my father. You fought together." The boy explained.

"Who are you-" Jack began, but was quickly silenced by a sharp blow to the back of the head. He fell to ground, brought back up by the sound of a piercing child's cry.

"Jack Sparrow, you think you can jus' waltz inna port an' take any man's whore you wan'?" It was the man from the tavern earlier, Jack realized, and he had the boy by the collar of his shirt.

"Listen, mate." Jack started to his feet, treading carefully, hands held in front of him. He didn't care for the boy that much, but he didn't want him killed because of his own stupidity. "The way I see it, I left her to you. I had her fair an' square in the first place, but when I saw how angry it made you, I left like a perfect gentleman."

"Ha! You ran away. An' now, I'm gonna make you pay for being stupid." He took out a knife, and lowered it to the boy. "Eye for an eye, right?"

"No!" Jack took an impulsive step forward, fear slicing open his gut as the knife descended, the fact that he wouldn't make it in time secure in his mind, guilt and pain already making a swift dive into his conscience.

But the knife never connected with the boy's soft flesh. Instead, it fell to the ground and the boy delivered a swift kick to the man's groin, and as the man doubled over in pain he picked up the knife and held it like a sword, in a perfect on-guard position Jack knew Will Turner would be proud of. Now wait, why'd he think of Will? He looked at the boy again. Come to think of it…

But he snapped back to reality when the man was straightening himself back up. He drew his own sword and stepped hastily in front of the boy. "That was brave, son, but now let me take over." Oh, well, he thought. He had tried to keep violence to a minimum that night, but seeing as there were no alternatives now, he had to do it.

The man drew his own sword, and thrust at Jack. The man was obviously drunk, about as drunk as Jack, actually, but anyone who has seen Jack's usual drunken swagger would know he was smarter, faster, and stronger drunk. Thus, he easily had the upper hand. One quick parry, another missed thrust on the other man's part, and move only Jack could claim as his later, the man was down, finished with a blow to the back of the head by Jack's hilt. "Now you see, mate, a whore's a whore, and she probable wasn't worth all this anyway.

The boy clapped appreciatively as Jack sheathed his sword and looked at him. "Now, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, who are you-" But once again, before Jack could finish, he was interrupted by a frantic woman's voice.

"Will! Will, my god, we've been looking for you for hours, where have you been? Where did you get that knife, and why do you stink of rum?"

Jack turned, and his eyes, if they could have, would have bugged out of his skull at the sight of the familiar woman embracing the boy before him.

"Elizabeth?" Jack managed, but barely. He was looking from the boy to her and back.

"Jack? Jack! What are you doing here?" Elizabeth cried, her eyes widening.

"Tortuga, love. Really I should be asking you that." Jack mumbled, gesturing feebly to his surroundings as he continued to look at the boy and his mother. "Is this…your…son?" He asked. He knew the question was stupid, especially after he had heard the boy crying "Mother" since he laid eyes on her, but he still wasn't processing the information. This meant that Elizabeth, his one time murderer, and the whelp, tool, cur, blacksmith turned pirate and sometime yeasty codpiece Will Turner had a child, and he was standing right there.

"Yes, Jack this is Will. It's so good to see you again!" Elizabeth, before he could protest, wrapped her arms around him.

"That must have been one good day." He said wearily, referring to seven years ago. Elizabeth laughed and slapped him good-naturedly across the chest.

"Mum, mum, this is Jack Sparrow, the one you and dad knew, right?" Will asked excitedly.

"Yes," she replied. "It is." She was looking him over, her eyes barely hiding her wants and loneliness. Then again, ten years was a long time, he reminded himself.

Finally, she hugged him again and looked him in the eyes. He stared back, waiting. She bit her lip, took a step back, and nodded to him.

"Thank you, Jack. We'll try to see you again before we leave." She said, before she took her son's hand in hers and walked away.

He smiled as he watched them walk away. He knew her thank you had a double meaning. She was happy he had protected her son, and happier still that he hadn't tried to tempt her. He knew what would happen if he did, and despite all that had happened between the Turner family and him, he considered them his friends. He didn't want to hurt them. So it was not to her that he called out to, but young Will, who turned.

"Take this with you, so I can find you. And when you see your dad, tell him…tell him I know he's not a eunuch now." Jack called as he tossed Will his hat.

Elizabeth gaped at him and as they walked away again, he laughed when he heard Will ask, "Mum, what's a eunuch?"

"Jack! For the love of god….I've been trying to catch up to Elizabeth since she lost her son. Did you see him? Jack? Jack? Where's your hat?!" Gibbs was running up him, out of breath.

Jack turned to him, smiled, and said, "Mr. Gibbs, I need a ship. Temporary, of course, until I get the _Pearl_ back again."


End file.
